Aftermath
by ceilidh65
Summary: Following on from Probie - Gibbs's threat to take away McGee's badge has serious consequences for both of them. I hope you enjoy, please R&R if you do!
1. Chapter 1 Running On Empty

Aftermath by ceilidh

A/N:- This is my first NCIS story, set after one of my favourite episodes. Probie was a superb episode, but Gibbs' attitude towards McGee at the end, especially his threat to take away Tim's badge, has always niggled me. So I wrote this story to try and settle that issue between them.

Special thanks to Teri for her time and patience in beta-ing this for me. It's been a great help, and much appreciated!

Chapter One – Running On Empty

He was angry. No, Gibbs sourly corrected himself, he was all out pissed, mad enough to spit teeth. Yeah, he'd start with the one that Archer's roundhouse had jarred to its roots, and work on from there.

Idly rubbing the point of impact, Gibbs sighed, reflecting on what had caused this simmering anger. He'd left his guard down, let Archer get the drop on him. That alone had incensed him, but –

– damn it, McGee had frozen, he'd almost gotten both of them killed, and McGee. McGee –

– oh, _crap_.

Hunkered into his coat, McGee had wrapped it tight around him, crossing his arms on top to hold it down. Yet he was shaking. Head bowed, staring blankly down at his shoes, the kid was shaking like a leaf.

With bright sunshine streaming through the car's windows, Gibbs had gratefully unzipped his jacket. The sedan was like a sauna, so there was no reason in the world for McGee to be shaking as if they were driving through a blizzard.

So the kid was either spitting mad himself, or he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Given what he'd been through, how close he'd just come to getting killed, Gibbs had bets on the latter.

And now there was a red light blinking on the dash, warning him they were running low on gas.

Glancing back at McGee, Gibbs sighed again. Oh yeah, this day just got better and better.

On the plus side, there was a gas station just ahead of them, with a small diner tucked in behind it – resolving at least two of his immediate concerns as Gibbs steered the sedan to an unoccupied pump.

"Need gas, and _I_ need coffee," he said at last, glancing back at McGee while he checked his wallet. "McGee? You want anything?"

It was a simple enough question, which that human-computer mind should have answered already. So the silence which continued instead, McGee's complete lack of response, was _not_ a good sign.

And when he _did_ finally glance back at him, the blankness in normally bright, ever quizzical eyes – yeah, Gibbs noted in silent concern, his probie was in trouble alright. _Serious_ trouble.

He'd seen that same haggard paleness enough times in his own face to recognise its cause. When had Tim McGee last eaten, or slept? And why the hell hadn't he thought to ask him before now?

Still waiting for McGee to answer him, Gibbs forced a smile through his niggling conscience and tried again.

"Yeah, they do some pretty decent stuff here, so if you're hungry-"

Hunger didn't come close to what McGee was feeling right now. His stomach was so empty it hurt. It was churning, too, promising that anything he _did_ dare to eat would make an instant re-appearance.

And if he were to throw up over Gibbs, when his boss was already spitting mad with him – no. That was a thought he just did _not_ want to finish.

Swallowing hard, McGee tiredly rubbed at his eyes, trying to ease the throbbing ache behind them. If he didn't eat soon, he'd pass out for sure, or make himself stupidly ill, but - well, better that than hurling over his boss's shoes.

So even as he winced, his stomach cramping painfully for nourishment, Tim shook his head.

"N – No, boss, I'm... I – I mean, I'm okay, I'm – I'm fine."

He was lying through his teeth, of course. He was far from okay. And Jethro Gibbs knew it.

'_The hell you are_._ Ducky_'_s got corpses in storage that look better than you'_

Even as he silently chastised his agent, though, Gibbs felt a proud smile begin to tug at his mouth. Beneath all that boy scout naivete, Tim McGee had a stubborn streak in him that was _almost_ as wide as his. He had the potential to make one hell of an agent – assuming, of course, that McGee stayed with him.

Judging by the sadness with which he now stared down at his badge, that suddenly looked less than certain.

More to the point, Gibbs knew he'd been the one who'd planted that seed of self-doubt into Tim McGee's mind.

'_Never__ hesitate because you second guessed yourself again_. _I_'_ll_ _take your badge_. _Clear_?'

Still watching him, Gibbs quietly cursed the threat which, in hindsight, had been badly mistimed – piling even more pressure onto a mind too exhausted, and scared, to see the protective concern beyond.

And contrary to popular belief, Gibbs _did_ care about his people, especially when they were in trouble.

From a snowballing mess of harsh words and misjudgement, one of his best agents was in trouble now. Tim McGee was on the verge of quitting the job he loved – a decision Gibbs knew he'd bitterly regret.

He needed a clear head to recognise that, and - well, right now the kid just wasn't thinking straight.

A real hard head-smack would help, of course. Luckily for McGee, there was a much gentler alternative.

First things first, though. Gas to sort that warning light, a double strength coffee to sort out his mood – and, slyly out of his earshot, a covert phone call to bring Timothy McGee back on an even keel.


	2. Chapter 2 A Deceptive Calm

Aftermath

A/N:- Thanks for the reviews! Since this is my first story, it's been really enouraging to get them. I'm going to try and post a chapter a day, so I hope you'll continue to enjoy - thanks again!

Chapter Two – A Deceptive Calm

All Tim McGee wanted right now was solitude. Right now, he just wanted _everyone_ to leave him the hell alone. After all, he'd been left to face the worst two days of his life, so much of this nightmare, on his own. Now that it was finally over, why should living with its consequences be any different?

And it _was_ over. He'd gone to Abby's lab for comfort and reassurance, perversely praying that it wasn't, but – no, it just wasn't to be. However much it mattered to him, she couldn't give him the answers that he needed so desperately.

She _would_ find them, of course, eventually, but – no. That wasn't enough for Tim McGee's conscience. Future breakthroughs in ballistic forensics wouldn't bring him the sleep which, yet again, he'd lose tonight

Maybe if he prowled round this elevator enough times, he'd finally collapse from sheer exhaustion, and – damn it, he was so tired. Just so damn _tired_. If he could just manage a few hours rest without waking in helpless tears, and –

– yeah, that was about as likely as Gibbs forgiving him for just nearly getting them both killed, and...

...oh, _crap_, what _now_?

"Ah, Timothy, there you are. Good, good, I've... um, been waiting for you to get back."

Ducky's brisk greeting caused him to groan as Tim left his sanctuary and stepped out into the bullpen. However much he respected him, he needed one of Ducky's rambling tales like a hole in his head – especially when that head felt like it had a drill in there already, boring its way through his temples.

Trying, again, to rub that damn ache away, he didn't see the silent conspiracy taking shape beside him – a raised eyebrow from Gibbs met with an equally subtle nod as Ducky's part in it swung into action.

"Yes, Timothy, it's my old office computer," he added briskly, taking hold of Tim's sleeve – giving him little chance to reply, or resist, as he and Gibbs steered the startled McGee back into the elevator. "It's quite old, I'm afraid. Been with me for years, but - well, I rather think it's time is up, and-"

As McGee stared blankly back at him, the ME's smile faded a little, turning into a frown of concern.

The boy's brilliance with computers was matched only by his love for talking about them. Just days ago, he'd given Ducky a head-spinning rundown on the new database he'd installed for him – the smile on his face so infectious, so full of enthusiasm, the doctor hadn't had the heart to stop him.

A lot had happened to him since then, Ducky sadly reflected. A hell of a lot. And none of it good.

Only now, as he studied Tim's face more closely, could he understand why Gibbs had called him. Unhealthily pale and, to Ducky's trained eye, close to collapse, Tim McGee clearly needed help – the kind that only a wily old doctor, and an equally wily boss, could conspire to give him.

Fixing some conveniently loosened wires would, if briefly, take the boy's mind away from what he'd just been through. And if he _should_ succumb to some subtly induced sleep afterwards, then so much the better.

So it was with some relief when, as they entered Ducky's office, McGee's eyes suddenly widened – the shock on his face so spontaneous, and so welcome, that Gibbs had to hastily smother his laughter.

"Yes, Timothy, it's nearly as ancient as me," Ducky admitted dryly, smiling too at Tim's reaction. "And I know she's no match for today's technology, but - well, I'm still rather fond of the old girl. I've become so used to her now, and... well, if you _can_ get her working again-"

That won him a trace of a smile as McGee nodded, laying his coat over the back of Ducky's couch.

"I've still got my first computer too, Ducky - and she's an Amstrad too," he replied just as softly – too engrossed in studying his latest challenge to notice the broad grins being traded behind him.

'Mission McGee' was off to a promising start.

Ten minutes later, things looked even better. Jacket off, tie undone, and his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, Tim McGee was in his element.

As Gibbs and Ducky had silently hoped, distracting him into a world where he felt safe and comfortable was just what the boy had needed. There was even a genuine smile on his face when, with a final tweak, the monitor flicked into life.

"There you go, Ducky. Nothing serious, just a couple of loose wires."

"Is that _all_?" Ducky blinked at him, so innocently that Gibbs had to quickly hide behind his coffee. Now he knew why no-one in NCIS _ever_ played poker with 'Lucky Ducky'.

Patting the couch beside him, the doctor then treated Tim to his brightest, most avuncular smile.

"I was _sure_ it was more serious than that, and - oh dear, I'm afraid I've wasted your time, Timothy. Ah well, never mind. Come and sit down, my boy, and have some tea. You've certainly earned it."

If he'd not been so tired, Tim might have asked why his mug was such a garish, stand-out yellow – markedly different from the pale blue ones which Ducky and Gibbs already had cradled in their laps. And he might have wondered why Ducky gave his drink such a brisk stir before passing it over to him.

Instead, gratefully drinking it down, he closed his eyes, felt drowsy warmth spread through him, and –

"Mission accomplished," Ducky smiled, watching in sly approval as Tim keeled gently onto his side. "Sweet dreams, Timothy."

The boy would wake up with an almighty headache, of course. And no doubt he'd ask all sorts of awkward questions as to what had been in that tea. But at least he was sleeping in a sanctuary of peace, letting his body regain vital strength. For now, that was all that mattered.

Rescuing his mug from a dangling hand, Ducky turned to Gibbs, expecting to find him smiling too. Not surprised to find a frown instead, the doctor sighed while draping Tim's coat over his shoulders.

"I know you're worried about him, Jethro, but he'll be alright. He just needs sleep. Time to heal."

Even as he nodded agreement, Gibbs still wasn't fully convinced. In fact, he wasn't convinced at all. Maybe it was his conscience, or his famous gut instinct, but he knew this damn mess was far from over.


	3. Chapter 3 Critical Mass

Critical Mass

A/N:- Thanks again for the reviews - and for everyone who's waiting for it, McGee's meltdown starts here! References to Probie, of course, and also season two's Witness. Enjoy!

To a slowly waking, still subtly drugged mind, it was a curious mix of smell, taste and touch. Disinfectant first, then coffee, followed by the lingering sweetness of sugared tea. And, cradling his face, the same, familiar comfort of gently worn leather.

Even as he savoured that comfort, though, Tim McGee continued to stir restlessly against it.

In the real world, three of his senses were telling him that he was warm. Safe. Alive.

Except he wasn't quite there yet. In his dreaming subconscious, he was still running for his life – his other two senses stretched to breaking point as they fought to keep him that way.

Squinting into the darkness ahead of him, he saw a flurry of movement. Heard his pursuer move closer, coming in for the kill.

Trapped and cornered now, in a chillingly familiar alley, there was nowhere left for him to run. Everything he'd done, every attempt he'd made to get away, this silent menace had matched it.

And now the shadowy figure who was haunting his dreams had somehow gained living form.

A powerfully broad hand gripped his shoulder, holding him down as he struggled to break free – his last, desperate act to save himself stopped by another firm grip, and an equally familiar voice.

"Easy, Tim, it's alright. You're okay, Tim, you've been dreaming. Come on now, wake up."

It took several seconds, but gradually, with four senses assuring him of safety, Tim stopped struggling. He'd placed the voice now, as well as the hand which had gently coaxed his own away from his gun.

Gibbs.

And he was calling him Tim, not McGee, and - oh crap, what the hell had he done wrong _now_? What was he doing in Ducky's office – no, scratch that, what was he doing on Ducky's _couch_?

And damn it, why was Gibbs still _looking_ him like that, scrutinizing him, like some anxious parent?

He must have flinched, or done something to betray his alarm, since Gibbs now released his grip –waiting for McGee to settle before, seeing him wince and rub at his temple, he tried, more gently, to reassure him.

"You crashed out, Tim. You've been in here, out cold, for almost twelve hours," he said at last – wisely omitting _how_ that out-cold sleep had been induced as he passed McGee a glass of fizzing liquid.

"Ducky said to give you this as soon as you woke up, and to make sure you drink _all_ of it down. Something about floorboards, your BSL and lytes, and - hell, McGee, he lost me at floorboards."

Ever the stickler for accuracy and, to Gibbs' relief, more settled now, McGee dutifully took both the bait and his medicine.

"Lytes and blood sugar, boss, they were, um, too low - like a diabetic, that's why I... um... I - I crashed. And – And he probably told you to make me eat something too, but - I'm sorry, boss, I'm just not hungry."

Okay, so the bagel that Ducky had left for him would have to wait, but – hell, Gibbs didn't mind. He'd got the kid to take his medicine, _and_ he'd got him talking too, so - yeah. He'd settle for that.

"Well, you're a big boy now, McGee. You're smart enough to eat when you're ready," he said at last – allowing himself a trace of a smile when McGee blinked back at him, as only Tim McGee ever could.

Yes, this was more like it. The kid clearly wanted things to get back to normal as much as he did, so –

"And what have I told you about apologising?"

He'd meant it as gentle teasing – a familiar, reassuring way to re-build his young agent's confidence. For once, though, Gibbs had got it wrong. Unfortunately, Tim McGee was in no mood for flippancy.

Ever since he'd frozen, helpless, in Archer's sights, a simmering tension had been building inside him. Now, at last, that storm finally broke, in a torrent of anger which took Gibbs completely by surprise.

"Damn it, boss, I nearly got us both killed yesterday! I screwed up, like I'm _always_ screwing up! Erin Kendall's dead because _I_ couldn't get to her in time. John Benedict's dead because _I_ panicked. Two people are _dead_ because of me, and but for the grace of God, boss, _you_ almost joined them, so - so yeah, Gibbs, with almost adding _you_ to my body count, _I_ think I need to say sorry, _okay_?"

His voice was shaking now, the normally calm eyes unnaturally bright with tears of bitter fury.

Then, before Gibbs could stop him, he was on his feet, through the door, and - gone. Perhaps for good

Stunned by his outburst, the depth of fury which had fuelled it, Gibbs then cursed in equal frustration. As his boss, Gibbs knew he should follow him. As his friend, though, he knew there was no point.

All he could do right now was calm _himself_ down, stare down at McGee's discarded coat – and try to find another way to pull one of his best agents back from an irretrievable brink.


	4. Chapter 4 Damage Control

Aftermath

A/N:- Oooh, more reviews! I'm really grateful for these, especially since it's my first story!

Okay, after the events from the last chapter, Gibbs and McGee clearly have some serious talking to do - and that starts here. Reference to Probie, of course, and Witness too. Also one of my favourite scenes from the whole series. If I say Red Cell and razzing poor Timothy, you'll know which one it is!

So thanks again for the reviews, and I hope you continue to enjoy!

Chapter Four – Damage Control

It was a promising sign, to see chinks of light under his door. At least that meant he was safely home.

Equally encouraging was the unmistakeable noise which Gibbs could hear from behind it – softly upbeat jazz, keeping time with the steady 'click-tap-clatter-ping' of an antique typewriter. And judging by the speed of those 'click-tap-clatter-pings', it was getting one _hell_ of a workout.

Still listening, Gibbs frowned through a reflective smile as he studied the coat draped over his arm. Some people vented their anger on the golf course, or tennis courts. Or, like him, on the firing range. Tim McGee, it seemed, preferred to vent in private – bashing six bells out of his beloved Remington.

But then, wasn't that typical of the brilliant genius who, Gibbs sadly realized, he still barely knew? He'd been on his team for over a year now, and this was the first time he'd seen the kid at home!

Tony and Kate had been here already, of course – although, like him, they hadn't _exactly_ been invited.

They'd gleefully told him all about that early morning razz-raid, and he'd laughed along with them – their accounts of running the mortified McGee completely ragged just too wicked for him to pass up.

Gibbs wasn't smiling now, though – and not just from the still raw pain of Kate's senseless death.

As he knocked on Tim McGee's door, he knew there was too much at stake for such frivolity. If he stood any chance of keeping him on his team, then both of them had some _serious_ talking to do.

Assuming, of course, that McGee _wanted_ to talk to him. That in itself was going to be a real challenge.

Keeping your private life private came with the job, of course, but where McGee was concerned – hell, the kid was a living mystery, double wrapped inside a puzzle of quirks and contradictions.

Painfully shy one minute, a bundle of stammering nerves, he could be breathtakingly brilliant the next.

He could be hurt too. His innate compassion could be both his greatest strength and cruellest weakness. And since his boss hated _all_ forms of frailty, he'd never dared to show how deeply he could be hurt.

Maybe if he had, Gibbs sourly reflected, the kid wouldn't be in such a damn mess now.

Benedict's death had caused most of it, of course, but McGee's nightmare had started long before that.

His first solo case had started without a shred of evidence, but had ended with Erin Kendall's murder. And yes, Kate had gently assured him that he wasn't to blame, but it hadn't been enough, and then –

Kate. Then they'd lost Kate.

Dear God, her death still haunted him, so deeply, so its impact on McGee could only be imagined – especially when only a freakish twist of timing had saved _his_ brain from being shot to pieces too.

So on top of two deaths on his conscience, now the kid had survivor's guilt to cope with as well.

Wonderful.

Yeah, he and his probie had a hell of a lot to talk about – _if_ he ever got through this damn door.

Judging by the bloodshot eye which now widened in shock through its peephole, that didn't seem likely. If Tim McGee was accepting any visitors tonight, then – well, his boss clearly bottomed his list.

Ten seconds passed, then twenty – onto thirty, and still that door remained locked in his face. And Gibbs ruefully doubted whether his knee had enough strength in it now to kick it down.

Finally, though, the door swung open until Tim stood, half-hidden behind its protection – staring back at him, in a nervous silence which, Gibbs knew, wasn't going to help either of them.

One of them had to make the first move, or else they'd be out here all night, and - to hell with that.

"You'll need this tomorrow. It's gonna rain," he said at last, holding out Tim's coat – feeling his own storm-clouds lift as McGee nodded and, if still rather shakily, took it from him.

"You – You didn't have t-... I – I mean, thanks, boss."

Okay, so it was hardly the stuff of United Nations diplomacy, but... yes, at least it was a start.

Of course, if he were at the UN, he'd have found the nearest coffee pot by now, and – well, Jethro Gibbs hadn't gotten to where he was today by standing around waiting for invitations.

"Costa Rican, right?" he asked at last, nodding pointedly over Tim's shoulder into the kitchen.

Thrown for a loop, McGee frowned for a moment. Then, with just a trace of a smile, he nodded. More heartening still, he was holding the door fully open now, so that Gibbs could move past him.

Watching it swing gently closed behind them, Gibbs allowed himself a cautiously hopeful smile. He was in, and McGee was already moving towards the coffee pot. Things were looking up.


	5. Chapter 5 Psyched Out

Aftermath

A/N:- I know I've said this already, but - wow! As a new writer here, these reviews have been so much appreciated! Thanks!

Now, as a relative newcomer to the series, I can't recall any mention over how Tim got that slight scar on his right cheek. He does, though, mention in Leap Of Faith that he'd seen a therapist when he was young. So this is just my idea on how that scar got there, and the effect it's had on him since. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Five – Psyched Out

DiNozzo had called it freaky and geeky. With typically more tact, Kate had called it sweetly eclectic. In a rare moment of harmony, both had agreed that Tim McGee's apartment suited him to a perfect T.

Surrounded by rows of books, LPs, antiques, computer parts and cables, Gibbs could see their point. Jeez, it was as if Aladdin's genie had taken his entire cave, and dumped it square into Silver Spring.

He could spend days alone, just envying the kid's record collection, but... no, that would have to wait. Right now, he had more serious things on his mind – the state of Tim McGee's his first concern.

He was still pale, which was hardly surprising. And it was a perverse relief to see he'd been crying too. At least he'd gotten that destructive anger out of his system, giving Gibbs a better chance to reach him.

Now, sitting beside his beloved Remington, pensively fingering its keys, he seemed calm enough, but – hell, he'd been calm earlier, and Gibbs still couldn't believe how quickly _that_ had changed.

McGee was still clearly shaken by it too, since his voice, when he finally spoke, was barely a whisper.

"I'm – I'm sorry, boss, ab-about earlier. I – I don't know what got into me."

Another apology. And Jethro Gibbs _hated_ apologies. For once, though, he was prepared to let it ride. Besides, this was one he'd been expecting. He'd prepared for it, too, so he knew how _not_ to react.

"Forget it, McGee. What you said made a lot of sense. It explained a lot," he said at last, pausing to let these first, crucial words fully register, before adding the closest thing to an apology that he could make.

"You've been through hell, Tim. Not just from this, there's been Kate's death, and Erin's too, and - well, you shouldn't have faced it alone. I should have realised you needed help."

It was an astonishing admission for him to make. Hell, he just wasn't used to saying stuff like this. And if he was expecting McGee to be stunned by it too – well, he wasn't disappointed.

For several seconds, open mouthed, and in complete shock, the kid sat struggling to take it all in – staring back at him, with more emotions on his face, in his eyes, than Gibbs thought he could count.

Surprise and shock. Regret and relief, with flashes of gratitude and hope thrown in for good measure.

He'd seen them all in turn, reflected in the wide eyes which, reassuringly, still bravely held his – and something else, which Gibbs couldn't quite place, as he leaned forward to squeeze Tim's arm.

"We've all been there, McGee. Tony, Ziva, and me, we all know what you're going through, and - Tim, if you need help beyond that, there's no shame in asking for it. I know some good people."

"You mean a therapist?" McGee cut in softly – smiling, but with no humour, at Gibbs' reaction.

Leaning forward, so that Gibbs could see it more clearly, he then pointed to the crest of his right cheek.

"Been there already, boss. Still got the scars."

He had, too, although Gibbs had to squint a little to fully notice the faint blemish beneath his eye – at least one of Tim McGee's many mysteries solved in a still quiet, unnaturally bitter voice.

"Letting it slip at junior high that I was seeing a shrink. Not the smartest thing I've ever done."

Now it was Gibbs' turn to stare, with a parent's natural outrage that kids so young could be so cruel.

He'd been right – Tim McGee had run the usual gauntlet of bullies who'd recognised a soft touch when they saw one.

Even in kindergarten, so had Kelly. Of course, he'd put an instant, _highly_ effective stop to that.

There'd been no such protection for McGee, though. He'd had to fight his own, clearly painful battles. And the kid would have been a much easier target then, _not_ a six foot plus federal agent, and – oh, _crap_.

He'd placed it now – that shadow which had just betrayed itself through those tired, haunted eyes. Finally recognizing the fear within them, the silent shame beyond, Gibbs realized he'd done it again.

In trying to bring his young agent through one nightmare, he'd inadvertently triggered another – one which, as he'd resignedly expected, Tim McGee just couldn't face right now.

On the plus side, though, at least the kid hadn't lost it again, or run screaming out of the room. Instead, to Gibbs' quiet relief, he took _both_ their mugs back for yet another refill of finest Costa Rican.

It was such a simple gesture, but for Jethro Gibbs, it was the most heartening sight he'd seen all day. McGee wasn't just tolerating his presence out of courtesy any more, he was openly accepting it – making no suggestion, despite his obvious tiredness, that he wanted Gibbs to leave.

Some subjects were still clearly red-lighted, of course, but that was okay. Gibbs didn't mind that. They were talking. However slowly, they were making progress, rebuilding precious trust between them.

But as he rubbed his own, grittily tired eyes, Gibbs knew there was still one hell of a long way to go.


	6. Chapter 6 Bombshells

Aftermath

A/N:- Please keep the reviews coming - I'm thrilled that you're enjoying this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Now, for all those who might be thinking things are going a bit too smoothly here... ;o)

Chapter Six – Bombshells

It was taking all his courage, and a _lot_ of coffee, but Tim McGee was, if still quietly, talking again.

Covertly studying him while he listened, Gibbs felt equal measures of proud relief and paternal fury. He'd always suspected that the kid had been bullied. Until now, he'd never known how badly.

Throughout his childhood, Tim McGee had suffered every kind of humiliation imaginable. At times, it had bordered on outright torture. And however much he tried to hide it, McGee's voice still cracked with every part of its memory.

"I - I guess my mom thought she was doing me a favour, or - well, maybe she didn't know what else to do. I – I mean, she'd had this six year old kid who could add up her grocery bill quicker than the scanner. By the time I was eight, I'd gone through two chemistry sets, was a year ahead of my class, and repaired my grandfather's TV.

Everyone kept telling her she had a genius on her hands, and... well, I guess she finally believed them. So while the kids I'd grown up with stayed in primary school, I made junior high three years early, and - well, suddenly her ten year old, chatterbox wonderchild couldn't string a coherent sentence together.

She thought I was freaking over my exams, but - well, she never knew what was _really_ causing it. I mean, how could I, boss? How could I tell her? She'd saved for months to send me to that therapist. How could I tell her what those kids had done to me because of it?"

As he paused once more, trying to compose himself, Gibbs felt his eyes narrow in silent concern. For the first time since he'd joined his team, he was getting inside Tim McGee's uniquely brilliant mind. With growing sense of unease, he was finding just how lonely and troubled a place it could be.

A shrink would have a field day in there, and - no, Gibbs sourly reflected, that was _not_ an option. He'd gone through that already, and would carry its scars, visible and otherwise, for the rest of his life.

And after what he'd just revealed, what those kids had done to him as he'd struggled and screamed, begging them to stop – hell, no wonder he'd baulked at the thought of being sent to another.

Not surprisingly, McGee seemed to have fallen into the same subdued mood, since he now sighed and shook his head.

"I just never thought it would be so hard," he said at last, pensively fingering the badge on his desk – so engrossed in tracing its outline that he missed the frown which now deepened into Gibb's face.

"I – I mean, I just never realized what it would be like to - well, to – to shoot someone, you know? You go through all the psych training, and - and you're taught all the scenarios, taught how to react, but - but when it happens for _real_, boss, and you have to _kill_ someone to protect yourself, it's – it's -"

"Like losing part of your soul. Yeah, McGee, I know," Gibbs finished for him, just as quietly – praying that his famous gut instinct wasn't telling him where this sudden shift in mood was heading.

Yes, he'd finally gotten around to the subject they'd taken three hours to reach, but – no. Oh, no. Oh, _crap_.

He was looking at his badge again, just like he'd done, so sadly, the previous day, and –

– and Tim McGee's voice, as he passed Gibbs a neatly typed envelope, confirmed his worst fears.

"I've – I've had a job offer, boss. MIT, they've... um... they've set up a special program, for other students wanting to go into computer forensics. They've offered me a position to - to teach them, and - and right now, boss, I can't see any reason for me not to take it."

Not trusting himself to speak, Gibbs just nodded, still staring at the envelope in his hand. He'd assumed the kid had been working on his novel when he'd arrived, but – hell, clearly not.

"And is that what you really want?" he asked at last, finally re-meeting McGee's eyes – knowing, from the regret he found there, that any answer other than 'no' would completely betray him.

McGee knew it, too. Jethro Gibbs was nobody's fool. And you lied to him at your own, foolish peril.

"No, boss. No, it isn't," he replied quietly, answering Gibbs with the complete honesty he deserved. "But at least I can't kill anyone in a classroom. I won't have that fear hanging over me, like it is now. I won't have the lives of people I care about relying on whether or not I've got the guts to fire a gun.

Because that's all I've thought about since yesterday, boss, and – and I just can't take that chance. Risking your life, or Tony's, or Ziva's... risking _your_ lives, losing more people that – that I care about... no, boss, I can't do that, and - and you might be willing to take that risk for me, sir, but – but I'm not."

Damn, the kid should have been a lawyer. There wasn't a single part of his reasoning that Gibbs could argue against.

But that didn't mean, of course, that Jethro Gibbs wasn't going to do everything he could to try.

"Okay, Tim, you've made your decision, and your case, and I have to respect that," he said at last – slipping McGee's resignation into his pocket while taking the first step to make sure it didn't happen.

"Director Shepard's back on Monday, and I'll give this to her then. _After_ the weekend. Okay?"

As he'd hoped, McGee had caught the hint of a single stressed word, and had wearily nodded agreement.

With an approving smile, Gibbs nodded too.

He had three days now, to turn this damn mess around. Tomorrow he'd call in the cavalry, and together they'd make sure that letter _never_ reached Jen's desk – because whatever he'd just said, whatever his doubts and fears, Tim McGee wasn't going anywhere.


	7. Chapter 7 Aftershocks

Aftermath

A/N:- Oooh, thanks to everyone who have so kindly left reviews for me! It's been such a treat to write this story, and I'm thrilled that you're all enjoying it.

Well, Gibbs had a bit of a shock in that last chapter - and his day's about to get a whole lot worse! Oh, and needless to say, poor Tim's not doing too well either! Enjoy!

Chapter Seven – Aftershocks

For a place that dealt with death and its silence, Ducky's lab had become an unnaturally noisy place.

As Gibbs had expected, the bombshell he'd just dropped on them had left his team completely stunned. But then the horrified silence had changed into a flurry of questions, suggestions, pleas and opinions.

DiNozzo had started it, of course, but within seconds Ziva, Abby and Ducky had joined in too. For such a quiet kid, Gibbs now dryly noted, timid Timmy McGee was causing one hell of a racket.

For the sake of his hearing, not to mention his sanity, this fourway free-for-all had to stop.

A piercing whistle brought instant, blissful silence, while sending every dog in DC completely nuts. Even Abby's pigtails seemed to jerk to attention, waiting for his follow-up order to 'fetch'.

But then her face started to crumple again, and any amusement Gibbs had felt instantly vanished. The closest thing he'd ever have to replacing Kelly was hurting – and he could _never_ stand for that.

"Hey, come on, Abs, we're _not_ gonna lose him," he said at last, drawing her into a gentle hug. "Ducky's right, he just needs time to put all this behind him, and-"

"-and what if he _doesn_'_t _put this behind him, Gibbs? What if he _can_'_t_?" Abby broke in – McGee's unnatural coldness from the previous day causing her voice to break in frustration, and Gibbs to wince in knowing what had _really_ caused it.

"You didn't see him yesterday, when he came for those killshot results. He was like a robot, Gibbs! I - I went to hug him, and he's _always_ let me hug him, and he just stood there, like he didn't know me!

He didn't want me to touch him, or hug him, he just wanted answers, like - like some kind of machine, and... I couldn't give them to him, Gibbs! I've run that bullet through every test I know, over and over, and - and I just can't prove who fired it, and it's tearing him apart!

My Timmy's hurting so badly, Gibbs! He's hurting so badly, and – and I can't help him!"

Damn it, could _anyone_ help Tim McGee through this damn mess? Right now, Gibbs wasn't sure himself, so God knew how he was going to convince Abby, DiNozzo and the rest of his shellshocked team.

Faith and common sense had always worked for him before. Gibbs just hoped they'd work for him now

"If there's a way to prove that killshot, Abs, I know you'll find it," he said at last, still hugging her - pressing just a little more firmness into his voice as Abby shook her head, still clearly upset.

"And Tim's worked enough forensics himself to know that... well, sometimes you just can't do it. However hard you try, Abs, however much you want them, sometimes the answers just aren't there."

"Yeah, I – I guess so" Abby sniffed, wiping her eyes on Ducky's gallantly offered handkerchief.

Even as she conceded one point, though, she couldn't shake off the injustice of another quite so easily.

"But he's _hurting_, Gibbs! He's such a sweet, great guy, he'd – he'd do anything for anybody, and - and he's gone through all this, and it's hurt him so much, and... it isn't _fair_, Gibbs! It just isn't fair!

Gibbs knew there was more to it than that – far more to Abby's bitterness than professional pride.

From the moment McGee and Abby had met, he'd seen something special between them – a rare and precious connection which he'd recognized instantly and, just sometimes, quietly envied.

He'd gone through too many marriages to believe in love any more, but – yes, these two did it for him. Despite their many differences, McGee and Abby were soulmates. They were simply made for each other.

And if Kelly had lived long enough to bring her first date home to pass his fiercely testing approval – yes, Tim McGee was just the kind of gentle, honourable rarity he'd have wanted her to find.

So yes, Gibbs could understand Abby's bitterness and anger. God knew, he felt the same way.

"Yeah, Abs, I know," he said at last, letting some of his own frustration to escape just as softly. "And I hate what he's been through too, Abs, but we're gonna get him through this, okay? He's agreed to think this over some more, so we've got three days to... well, _help_ him change his mind. And if anyone can convince him to stay, Abs - hey, more than any of us, it's gonna be you."

That won him a trace of a smile as Abby nodded, hugging him with one arm and Bert with the other – a steely glare towards DiNozzo warning him that any wisecrack he dared to make would be his last.

But then Bert truly let rip, and not even Gibbs could hold back a smile at the pure bizarreness of it all. So much tension, anger and uncertainty – soothed away by the juvenile flatulence of a cuddly hippo.

He was still smiling, wryly shaking his head, as he reached into his jacket to answer his phone – frowning slightly at the call source on his screen, but thinking no more of it as he took the call.

"Gibbs."

Listening for several moments, he then closed the connection, staring at his phone in complete silence.

Finally, swallowing hard, he turned back to meet four puzzled, increasingly nervous faces – feeling his own pale, in dread with theirs, as his next words silently tore their hopes and hearts apart.

"That was Metro. McGee's been caught in a robbery, he's - Tim's been shot."


	8. Chapter 8 Living By Numbers

Aftermath

A/N:- Yes, wasn't that mean, to leave you all so worried at the end of that last chapter? Don't worry, I won't be killing our lovely Timothy off, he's much too adorable for that. Besides I just can't write deathfics, they upset me too much!

So with that to put your minds at rest, here comes chapter eight. Just another quick reference to Witness, otherwise everything is as before. Enjoy, and thanks again for the reviews, they've been much appreciated!

Chapter Eight – Living By Numbers

He'd suffered so many losses in his life. He'd talked about a few, but had borne the most personally devastating alone

Some he'd come to terms with. But there were three that would haunt Gibbs until his own dying day. Losing his wife, daughter, and Kate were senseless tragedies that he'd _never_ accept, forget, or forgive

And now this.

Three hours ago, a routine phone call had brought another loss unthinkably close. There'd been cruel irony, too, that it had come from the cop who'd given Tim McGee his first case.

'_I_'_m_ _sorry_, _Gibbs_, _but your kid_? _McGee_? _He_'_s down_,_ he_'_s_ _been shot_, _and -_ _Gibbs_, _it_'_s_... _bad_.'

Even by Floyd's world-weary standards, that had been the understatement of the century. One bullet through his shoulder, the other grazing his head, and – hell, that was _way_ worse than 'bad'.

Whatever Floyd had said next had passed in a blur as Gibbs set a new, bitterly unwanted record – pushing himself, the sedan, and four already terrified passengers to the brink of their limits. Even Ziva, quite the rally driver herself, had struggled to hold onto whatever support she could find.

Twenty minutes later, he'd been pacing furious circuits around a hospital waiting room, and now –

– now, taking in the miracle before him, Gibbs offered a silent prayer of thanks to every god he knew.

Defying odds that even he'd struggle to explain, Tim McGee was still in the land of the living. Surrounded by gently beeping monitors, he was lying in a hospital bed instead of a coroner's bodybag.

He was still unconscious, though – held deeply beneath a healing mantle of drugs and oxygen. Cocooned in a nest of IV lines, wires and tubing, he suddenly looked so tiny. So painfully young.

But he was alive.

Only just, though – and Gibbs felt himself swallow hard as his eyes settled on McGee's left shoulder.

A few inches lower, a hand's width to the right, and the bullet which had torn into it would have ripped his heart apart instead.

And that head wound – no. Gibbs couldn't dwell on that. A margin of millimetres was too tiny to count

Christ, it had been close. _Much_ too close. If the kid were a cat, he'd be on his ninth life.

Little wonder, then, that DiNozzo now squeezed McGee's arm, needing to feel its warm proof of life – quietly voicing the relief that all of them felt, as his long suffering probie gained yet another nickname.

"Hey, McMiracle. You're gonna be okay."

"Yes, when young Timothy wakes up, we'll have to ask him about his ancestry," Ducky agreed – meeting four puzzled glances with his familiar, twinkling smile as he shrugged his shoulders.

"With a name like McGee, he must have _some_ Irish blood in him. He certainly had their luck today."

He'd made his point in gentle, much needed humour – and, as he'd hoped, everyone had appreciated it. Even Abby, who'd tearfully clung to Tim's hand since they'd come to his bedside, looked slightly happier.

And while Gibbs was smiling too, its strength didn't quite reach his eyes, or his softly bitter response.

"Better late than never."

Very few people would dare to argue with Jethro Gibbs when he was in such a dark mood as this. Thankfully for Gibbs, _and_ his team, Ducky had enough years of friendship behind him to do it, and still stay in one piece.

"Better _late_ than not at all," he said at last, meeting Gibbs' eyes with calm compassion in his own – repeating the assurances he'd made two days earlier, while giving them a gently meaningful twist.

"Jethro, he's going to be alright. He's still with us _now_. Let's not waste that by brooding on the past."

As Gibbs remained stonily silent, everyone around him took a subconscious, '_uh-oh_' step backwards.

Then, to a relief that warmed the whole room, Jethro Gibbs finally smiled right up into his eyes – a glance of private thanks met with an equally subtle wink as he nodded in grateful agreement.

"Yeah, we've still got him," he said at last, giving McGee's hand a gently encouraging squeeze.

Glancing around him, along this line of truly incredible people, his smile then widened in silent pride. Ducky was right, as he so often was. Tim McGee was alive, and surrounded by the closest, most unique family in the world – this silent count of blessings turning six days of anger and bitterness into six soft words of encouraging hope.

"We're here, Tim. So are you."

Gibbs knew that McGee couldn't answer him. The kid was too far away, still too deeply drugged, for that. But he'd be awake tomorrow. He'd be strong enough then, to count his own lifetime of blessings.

Tomorrow, they'd be able to talk. Tomorrow, they'd finally put this damn nightmare behind them, and –

– and all those hopeful plans came crashing down, as the monitors at Tim McGee's side went noisily haywire.

Gibbs barely had time to react to their chiming alarms before a small army of doctors swept past him – the urgency with which they swarmed over their patient sparing little time for explanations.

Then again, Gibbs didn't need to ask. He had his own medical expert standing, just as shaken, beside him. And the dismayed realisation on Ducky's face said it all.

"Oh, no," he whispered, swallowing hard, before he finally met Gibbs' eyes. "Jethro, he's - he's deteriorating. Timothy's developing compression... he – he needs surgery, straight away, to relieve the pressure, or-"

For once, Ducky's love for detail deserted him. There was just too much at stake for him to continue.

Instead, supporting Abby gently between them, he shared Gibbs' anxious glance to the bed behind them – both praying that Tim McGee's luck, Irish or otherwise, wasn't about to fail him when he needed it most.


	9. Chapter 9 Perchance To Dream

Aftermath

A/N:- Okay, I _promise_ I'm finished with the cliffhangers now! But having said that, I've still left our dear Timothy banging rather too loudly on death's door. Let's see what, and who, he finds on the other side...

Chapter Nine – Perchance To Dream

So this was the afterlife. Well, McGee dryly surmised, the great unknown was whatever you wanted it to be.

And he'd always loved the ocean, always found peace in its soothing beauty. So if he really _was_ dead, if he _had_ to spend eternity here, on this breathtaking beach, and –

'_McGee_?!'

– and _jeez_, could the dead still be scared to - well, _death_?

Hell, why not? _Anything_ was possible here. How else could Tim McGee explain the materialising presence which now furiously railed at his fate?

'_Damn it_, _Tim_, _you_ – _you shouldn_'_t_ _be here_! _DiNozzo maybe_, _or Gibbs_, _but -_ _hell_, _McGee_, _not __you_!'

Recovering himself, Tim then shrugged, in rueful acceptance, as he met Kate Todd's eyes.

'_Yeah_, _well_, _I think it_'_s_ _too_ _late to worry about that now_...'

Pausing for a moment, Tim studied her for several more, then broke into a playfully mischievous grin

'_Hi_, _by the way_. _I_'_d say it_'_s_ _good to see you_, _Kate_, _but_... _well_, _that would be kinda hinky_.'

'_This from the kid who fantasized about __me__ in skintight leather and holding a whip?_' Kate shot back – her smile fading as laughing green eyes reminded her of what she'd waited too long to appreciate.

By the time she'd seen Tim McGee for who, and what, he truly was, it had been too late. Well, too late for her. Ari had seen to that, but – damn it, no. No, it couldn't be too late for him already.

There'd been no hope for her, of course. A bullet through her brain had left no hope for survival. But if he could hear their voices - yes, there'd still be hope for him. Tim McGee could still return to the world where he truly belonged.

Turning more serious, she then took his hand while nodding towards a distant haze of light.

'_And it __isn_'_t_ _too late_. _Can_'_t you hear them_, _Tim_? _They weren_'_t here for me, but they are for you_.'

Frowning back at her, McGee listened for a moment, then nodded in guilty realisation. It had been hard sometimes, to hear their voices above the tossing ocean, but - yes, he'd heard them.

One had regaled him with stories that he'd caught from the start, or the middle, but never heard end.

"-_ah yes_, _Timothy_, _happy days indeed_. _And then there was the time when Jethro and I-_"

When that softly familiar burr wasn't there, another had unfailingly taken its place beside him. A voice that could make his life such complete hell had, in complete seriousness, pleaded with him to return to it.

"_I know where you are_, _probie_, _and you don_'_t_ _belong there_. _C'mon_, _kid, just_ – _just come back_."

In degrees of defy-me-if-you-dare brusqueness, another had lent him some of her incredible strength.

"_You are strong_, _McGee_. _Stronger than others know_, _or you yourself will admit_. _You __will__ be alright_."

Another, fighting back tears, had breathed over his cheek, pleading for him to come back to her.

"_They said you_'_d be awake by now_, _Timmy_, _and you_'_re_ _not_, _and_ – _and_... _wake_ _up_, _Timmy_. _Please_."

There'd been one voice, though, and a solidly comforting hand, which seemed to be there the most.

Both were there with him now – pulling him, with gentle insistence, towards shafts of brilliant light.

"_C_'_mon_, _McGee_, _you_'_re_ _almost home_. _You've_ _come this far_, _Tim_. _Don't_ _turn back on me now_."

Swallowing hard, McGee then re-met Kate's eyes, his own flooded now with conflicted emotions – joy that he was leaving this land of the living dead, coupled with bitter regret that she couldn't come with him.

'_Kate_, _I_-'

She must have sensed what he couldn't bring himself to say, since she now pulled him into a gentle hug.

'_I know_, _Tim_, _but_ – _hey_, _do this for me_, _okay_? _Kick DiNozzo_'_s_ _butt for me_. _And tell Gibbs_ _I_'_m_ _okay_.'

If she'd hoped to stop now helpless tears, then that last part only served to make him cry even harder – reminding her, yet again, of the compassion which made Tim McGee so strong, and yet so vulnerable.

There was so much else about him that she missed. His honesty, his quiet courage. Those gently expressive eyes.

More than anything, though, she'd loved his laughter, and – hell, if this didn't let her hear it one last time, nothing would.

'_You_'_ll still see me in your dreams_, _Tim. And if you_'_re_ _a __very__ good boy_, _I_'_ll bring my whip_.'

It worked. Sob-spluttering with giggles, McGee held Kate gently closer for one last, precious goodbye.

At the same time, Jethro Gibbs sat up in his chair, struggling to believe what he'd just seen and heard. He thought he'd imagined it, or dreamt it, but - no, Tim McGee really _was _crying with laughter.

It had been loud enough to bring Ducky, DiNozzo, Ziva and Abby scrambling to his bedside – staring down, in astonished joy, at the tear-bright eyes which now blinked their way slowly along them

There was one face, though, which Tim McGee needed to find now, more than any other, and – yes. Yes, there it was, pale and haggard in concern – paling even more, as a faint whisper kept an impossible promise.

"Hey, b'ss. K – Kate says hi..."


	10. Chapter 10 The Darkness Before Dawn

Aftermath

A/N:- Aaah, isn't it lovely to have our dear Timothy back in the land of the living again?

He isn't out of the woods yet, of course, so for all you angst fans out there... read on, and enjoy! Oh, and I know I sound like a broken record here, but thank you again for all the reviews. I really am just blown away by them! :o)

Just a quick reference to Hometown Hero - otherwise, it's all as before. Enjoy!!

Chapter Ten – The Darkness Before Dawn

The darkness was lifting again. Light and sound were returning, frustratingly slowly, into his world.

There was just one voice now, softly reassuring him. Just one hand. Just one, unmistakeable aroma. As he gingerly opened his eyes, Tim McGee already knew who that voice and hand belonged to.

Where there was coffee, you could bet your life that you'd find –

– two steely blue eyes, which now crinkled into a smile that very few people were lucky enough to see

Jethro Gibbs didn't smile often, but when he did, and as broadly as this, it was a truly rare privilege. Little wonder, then, that McGee now looked so puzzled. Gibbs had _never_ smiled at him like this before.

The last time he'd seen such open relief was on his father's face, after he'd wrecked the Camaro, and –

– woken up in hospital, cocooned in traction wires, and feeling every bit as lousy as he did now.

He'd been damn lucky then. By the same laws of science which had shaped his life since, Tim knew he should have died that day. Even without that haggard face beside him, Tim McGee knew he'd been even luckier now.

Fragments of memory were returning, playing through his mind like one of Tony's beloved movies.

An empty coffee jar, and an even emptier fridge.

A thumping headache, and a brisk walk to help clear it.

Bright sunlight, bearing the promise of a perfect spring day.

Groceries, including _two _jars of finest Costa Rican.

An outraged yell from the storekeeper behind him.

The sound of running feet.

Dumping his bags back on the counter, he'd started running too, after the kids who'd barged past him.

He'd yelled at them to stop, reaching for his gun, but finding only an empty belt instead, and then –

– then he'd seen one of them skid to a stop ahead of him, reach into his jacket and draw out his hand.

A glint of unmistakeable metal had aimed itself straight at his heart, and then... oh God, the _pain_...!

Pain like he'd never known before had ripped through his shoulder, then razored along his head, then –

– then darkness had crashed down around him, carrying him away to a horrifically beautiful world.

And long before Kate Todd had appeared, Tim McGee had known he was either dead, or not far from it.

He must have started trembling, or cried out in realization, since a strong hand now tightened around his own – a soft voice holding the same gentleness as it soothed him through the horrors of his mind.

"Easy, Tim, just ride it out. Attaboy, McGee, that's it, you're safe now, Tim, it's all over. Just breathe now, Tim, slow and steady. Ride it out."

Screwing his eyes shut, against tears of helpless pain, Tim felt his body relax, his mind start to drift. As painkilling drugs kicked in and flooded his body, his subconscious took him mercifully away from reality, to the sanctuary of a perfect, windswept beach.

It was as peaceful as before, still breathtakingly beautiful, but – no. As he'd expected, it was deserted. Waves still washed the sand where they'd stood, where he'd hugged her goodbye. But Kate wasn't there.

So yes, he'd survived. He'd left that world behind him, and made it back to reality, but – by God, it hurt. Despite the drugs that were being pumped into him to lessen it, every part of his body hurt like hell.

And however desperately Tim tried to hold it back, his body just didn't have the strength to fight it.

Tears were sliding down his face again, just as they'd done then. Again, they were brushed gently away. And a voice which held nothing but understanding now softly told Tim McGee what he already knew.

"She's gone, Tim. All of it's gone, you're back in _this_ world now. It's okay, Tim. It's okay."

It wasn't, of course. Even without the stricken eyes that now stared up at him, Gibbs knew it _wasn_'_t_ okay.

He'd been through this nightmare himself, and he knew exactly what Tim McGee was feeling right now. The joy of being alive was crashing painfully against the carefree sanctuary that he'd left behind.

Everything he'd just been through – Benedict's death, the toll it had taken on him, and now this shooting – was finally proving too much for Tim McGee to take. And Gibbs knew that trying to ignore it, keeping all that pain and bitterness inside, was the worst thing the kid could do.

He'd made that mistake when Shannon and Kelly had died, and it had left one hell of a legacy. And he'd be damned if he was going to let this quiet, gentle kid be consumed by the same destructive anger, and grow bitterly old before his time

So Gibbs rose from his chair now, and re-seated himself, very carefully, at McGee's right shoulder – sliding a fatherly arm around him, offering what comfort he could, as Tim fell helplessly apart against him.

"That's it, Tim, let it all out now. That's it, Tim, it's gonna be okay now. I've got you, Tim, it's gonna be okay. You're going to be alright."

Even as he silently railed at what McGee was going through, Jethro Gibbs quietly welcomed its blessing. Once he'd cried himself empty, the boy would slide back into merciful sleep, regain his strength in its sanctuary.

Then he'd _finally_ start to heal.


	11. Chapter 11 Brothers In Arms

Aftermath

A/N:- Thanks so much for the latest reviews - I'm so pleased that you're all still enjoying the story!

Now, the last few chapters have been a real angst-fest, so hopefully this one will lighten the mood a bit. Besides, I just love the big brother/ little brother relationship between Tony and Tim. So with just a bit more 'father-fretting' for Gibbs, here's a little scene with them all, which I hope you'll enjoy.

Chapter Eleven – Brothers In Arms

It felt good to smile again. Then again, the scene that now met his eyes didn't give Gibbs much choice.

He'd considered Tony DiNozzo to be many things. A selfless babysitter had _never_ been one of them. Then again, he'd never had a surrogate kid brother to protect and keep safe. At least, not until now. And if anyone had razzable little brother written all over his sweet-natured face, it was Tim McGee.

Of course, it wasn't just DiNozzo who took such delight in teasing merry hell out of the young rookie. Kate and Abby, too, so often its target themselves, had taken sisterly pleasure in dumping that dubious honour onto Tim McGee's thankfully broad shoulders. Even Ducky had found it impossible not to join in the fun.

However mercilessly everyone teased him, though, Tim McGee would _always_ be Tony's kid. _His_ probie. And until this mess was over, Tony DiNozzo was never going to be far from his side.

There was a bond between these two chalk and cheese opposites which rivalled that of most brothers. In many ways, it was even stronger. After all, each had to rely on the other to keep them both alive. And that bond was at its most protective, and fiercely loyal, when one of them was in trouble.

As soon as Gibbs had told him about McGee's breakdown the previous night, that had been it. The famous DiNozzo flippancy had vanished into pure, complete concern as the senior agent made a bee-line for McGee's room. His probie was going through undeserved hell. And Tony wasn't going to let him go through it alone.

So it really didn't surprise him that, as he entered McGee's room, Gibbs found Tony still there.

Just as he'd left him the previous night, he sat beside Tim's sound shoulder, watching TV through its set of earphones. Dividing his attention between a favourite movie and his favourite probie, he was in his element – his explanation digging him into such a deep hole that Gibbs felt damn tempted to fetch him a ladder.

"Hey, boss! Oh, yeah, I - yeah, see, my cable's still out, and - well, McBye-Byes here's got TCM."

It was a good job he'd bought an extra-large coffee. It gave Gibbs something to hide his grin behind.

Selfless babysitter? DiNozzo? Yeah, _right_.

Nodding in _almost_ straight-faced approval, Gibbs then directed a more serious nod towards Tim's bed

"How's he doing?"

"Better," Tony replied quietly, sobering too now as he absently tucked the bedclothes over Tim's chest. "He was kinda restless after you left, but - yeah, he settled through it. Been spark out ever since."

Gibbs' eyebrows rose at that. He'd left McGee over ten hours ago, and he was _still_ out for the count?

Studying the peaceful face before him, Gibbs then smiled slightly. Yeah, the kid was out of it alright, blissfully lost to the world. Not even wafts of extra-strong coffee were coming close to waking him.

All the time he was sleeping, though, he was healing too. And God knew, he still had a _lot_ of healing to do. That shoulder alone was going to need weeks of therapy, and – damn, it was his left shoulder too.

He'd forgotten about that. McGee was left handed, so before he could be cleared for full field duty, he'd need to get full mobility back into that arm.

Medical clearance was a bitch, too, and... couldn't that damn kid have gone for his right arm instead? Better still, couldn't the little runt have just run under a bus, and saved everyone all this trouble?

Okay, it was a brutally cynical thought, but Gibbs wasn't feeling too charitable right now. Tim McGee had almost died, simply because he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even now, five days later, he was still on full meds, and swathed in enough gauze to wrap a mummy.

His colour was better, though, and the heart monitor had also been taken away that morning. He was now stable enough to be taken off the 'cause for concern' list. That had been a massive relief. It meant that Gibbs had finally managed to persuade Ziva, Ducky and Abby to go home for some much needed rest.

Watching him for a moment, Gibbs was again struck by how young, and vulnerable, sleep made him. Safely held in lightly drugged dreams, Tim McGee was the study of defenceless innocence.

He was quiet, too. Except for the steady rise and fall of his chest, you couldn't even be sure he was breathing. And after the close call he'd just had, Gibbs still found himself resting his hand on Tim's forehead, just to make sure.

That was totally irrational, of course, but Gibbs just wasn't used to seeing Tim McGee so still, or so quiet. The kid could spend all day on his beloved computers, and still be clattering away on them all night. And without a timely head-slap to stop him, he could talk hyperspeed geek-speak for hours on end.

So yes, this silence and stillness was pretty unsettling. And, it seemed, DiNozzo felt the same way.

"He- uh, _will_ be okay, boss," he said at last – the anxious '_won_'_t_ _he_?' left unspoken between them.

Gibbs had still picked up on it, though, and now smiled slightly as he gave Tony's knee a rallying nudge.

"Yeah, Tony, he'll be okay. He's over the worst now. And whatever's to come, we'll get him through it."

As he'd hoped, DiNozzo was already smiling back at him, nodding with the same determination – the protective hand which he then placed on Tim's forearm speaking volumes for the bond between them.

Watching this in proud approval, Gibbs felt much of his tiredness and worry lift from his shoulders. For the first time since this nightmare had started, he could finally start to believe that it was almost over.

And, so faintly that both of them had missed it, Tim McGee's face now expressed its own, silent gratitude. Even in the depths of his dreams, he still knew they were there.


	12. Chapter 12 Precious Returns

Aftermath

A/N:- Thanks for the latest reviews! Tim certainly has a lot of friends out there!

Of course, he still has a tough recovery ahead of him, so the next few chapters are going to deal with that. As before, I hope you enjoy!!

Chapter Twelve – Precious Returns

_Still_ raining.

Gibbs could hear thunder too now, growing closer, while lightning lit up an iron-grey sky. DC was heading for quite a storm. He just hoped it wouldn't disturb the crucial healing behind him.

He should have known better. Even on his sickbed, Tim McGee could still throw a few bolts from the blue of his own.

"-b – boss?"

Dryly wondering if this kid would _ever_ stop surprising him, Gibbs smiled as he moved from the window to Tim's bedside – noting, in proud relief, that McGee was already trying, if more weakly than usual, to return it.

His eyes were calmer too, although that inevitably changed as they took in his surroundings. Alarm and shock flashed across his face, especially when he found his left shoulder swathed in gauze. To Gibbs' relief, a wince of rueful humour eventually followed.

"Oh, boy. Waking up in hospital. N-Never good."

"You're waking up, Tim. That's the main thing," Gibbs told him gently, watching him for his reaction – that reaction all he'd hoped for, as McGee accepted the point he'd made with a weary nod of concession.

Yet there was a telltale stammer in his next words – and Gibbs already knew where that was leading to.

"Yeah, boss, I – I know, and- and ab-about that... I – I mean, ab-about the- um..."

"...fact that you're human?" Gibbs finished for him, smiling again as startled eyes blinked up at him.

Not for the first time and, he hoped, not the last, he quietly lauded Tim McGee's unshakeable humanity. In their line of work, it took guts to show your emotions so openly, or so honestly, as this. And while Gibbs could never say it out loud, he still respected him for it.

He just hoped the boy's trust was still there too – that it was strong enough to believe what he said next

"For what you've just been through, Tim, what you felt, and how you reacted, was perfectly normal. You're _human_, Tim. And the last time I checked, McGee, you didn't need to apologise for that."

More supportive encouragement, which he'd shyly appreciated but, at the same time, clearly hadn't expected – hence the nervous '_what the hell_'_s_ _in this stuff_?' glance which Tim now threw towards his IV.

To hear such things from Jethro Gibbs - yes, that was it. He was hallucinating. _Definitely_ hallucinating.

Beyond this precious moment of humour, though, both knew far more serious issues still lay beyond it. For Tim McGee, the first of those issues now came through a tumble of nervously shaky questions.

"And wh-...? I – I mean, what made me go there? Did – Did I _die_, boss? Was – Was it really _that_ bad?"

Smiling slightly as Floyd's understatement made a surprise re-appearance, Gibbs then sobered again – giving it a gently more realistic edge as he answered Tim with the honesty he'd need to help him heal.

"I won't lie to you, McGee, we almost lost you. When you were brought in, it was really touch-and-go. You took one straight through the top of your shoulder there, and a real hard graze along the side of your head.

Then you developed compression, and you needed more surgery to relieve the pressure, and - yeah, Tim, it was pretty touch-and-go, especially when they took you in for that second surgery. You've been in a coma for almost three days. And whatever we tried, we just couldn't bring you out of it."

"Yeah, I – I remember that," McGee nodded, meeting Gibbs' eyes with reassuring calmness in his own. "I – I was on this beach, and I could hear you all talking to me, and that's- that's when I saw Kate."

Pausing for a moment, Tim then smiled – finding much needed strength now, in a very special memory.

"She – She was the one who told me to come back, and – and to kick DiNozzo's butt when I got there."

"Now _that_'_s_ something I can't wait to see," Gibbs winked back at him, already relishing the thought. After two solid years of merciless pranks and teasing – yeah, God knew the kid was due some payback.

That day was still a long way off, though. Gibbs knew that, long before his smile faded in fresh concern. Yes, he was finally awake and coherent again, but he knew McGee faced an equally traumatic recovery.

He'd put a typically brave face on it, of course, but he was clearly shaken by what he'd been through. And, Gibbs noted in quiet concern, a cautious roll of his injured shoulder had made him gasp with pain.

Instead of stopping, though, McGee took a deep breath, then rolled it again. A second time. A third.

Gradually its movement became easier, and the strain on Tim's face gave way to a tired but triumphant smile.

Watching him in proud relief, Gibbs then felt himself smiling too, nodding in silent approval. He wasn't due to start therapy for several days yet, but - well, trust Tim McGee to see things differently.

A long and difficult recovery still lay ahead of him, but he'd made the best possible start. His spirit was back, and so was his stubbornness, and – hell, yes, the kid would do it. He'd get there.


	13. Chapter 13 Plan C

Aftermath

A/N:- Thanks for the latest reviews! And for all of you who have been waiting for 'the talk' between Gibbs and Tim - well, it starts here. Enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen – Plan C

It was getting to the point where Tim McGee's room had more flowers in it than the hospital shop – vases of every size and colour fighting for space against the same number of cards, mystery novels and cuddly toys

Bert wasn't among them, though. A flatulent hippo really wasn't conducive to a peaceful night's sleep. Not that Abby minded. She was just thrilled, and delighted, and... well, just _Abby_, to have him back.

So, for now, Bert sat unhugged on his shelf. For Abby, cuddling her Timmy would _always_ come first. And as Tim had dryly discovered, she'd cuddle him from the moment she arrived to visit him to the moment she left.

He was strong enough for more visitors too, although Tim increasingly found that to be a mixed blessing. He'd laugh at DiNozzo's teasing, welcome Ziva's strength, Abby's cuddles and Ducky's stories, but – no. However much he savoured their company, he was always silently grateful when they left him alone.

Each visit reminded him how much they cared about him. How much he cared about them in return. And from that, inevitably, all the doubts and fears he'd had surrounding them began to creep back again.

All of them saw his change of mood as a sign of tiredness and, none the wiser, would leave him to sleep

Jethro Gibbs, though, wasn't fooled so easily. He knew Tim McGee better now than ever before. And he'd already noticed that the effortless smile which could hide so much pain wasn't concealing it _quite_ so well.

Now all he had to do was find out why. A chance search through his coat stunned Gibbs with the answer.

In all the shock of McGee's shooting, he'd completely forgotten to give Jen his resignation letter, and – oh, _crap_.

The deadline they'd agreed on had passed, so he'd naturally think his resignation had gone through. And just to top the cake with irony, everyone had clearly assumed that someone else had told him otherwise.

Two crucial lines of communication had gotten crossed. Now Gibbs had to straighten them out – and fast.

Through genuine tiredness, or otherwise, McGee had been sleeping when Gibbs had last left him. Now, to Gibbs' relief, he was awake, trying to find something in daytime TV that was worth watching.

Soaps, game shows, and Jerry Springer. No wonder he now greeted his boss with a '_thank God_' smile.

It hadn't _quite_ touched his eyes, though, and... well, Jethro Gibbs already knew the reason for that – its solution already in his hand as he came to Tim's bedside, and placed an unopened envelope in his lap.

"Yeah, I'm- uh, sorry, McGee," he said at last, causing wide green eyes to almost fall out of their sockets. "I guess with this shooting and all, and bringing you through it, I kinda forgot to hand this in, and - look, however long it takes to get back on your feet, Tim, and fit again, you'll still be on my team."

If he was expecting a grin of relief, or even a half-hearted complaint at his forgetfulness, he was worryingly disappointed.

For a full thirty seconds, McGee stared in turn at Gibbs, to the envelope in his hand, then back to Gibbs. When he finally found enough voice to reply, the stammering reaction _wasn_'_t_ what Gibbs had expected.

"Bu- I – I mean, thanks, boss, but- well, with Benedict, and Archer, and – and now this, I – I just can't."

Swallowing hard at Gibbs' reaction, Tim took a deep breath, then another, then ploughed nervously on.

"I - I just _can't_. I went after that kid like a damn rookie, boss, and I nearly got myself killed because of it, and - no. I'm – I'm sorry, boss, after all you've done for me, but I still want you to give Director Shepard that letter. For everyone's sakes, I'd be safer at MIT."

Now it was Gibbs' turn to stare, as McGee blew his second set of carefully laid plans clear out the water.

After all he'd been through, he couldn't blame the kid for still feeling unsettled, but - damn it! Everything about McGee's decision to leave the career he'd been born to do was just plain, all out _wrong_

Plan A to stop it had ended in an unthinkable phone call, and a weekend lost in anxious vigil at his bedside

The alternative he'd just come up with to take its place had also been scuppered by its aftermath.

So that left Plan C. And come hell or high water, Jethro Gibbs was going to make sure _this_ one worked.

"Okay, McGee" he said at last, hoping his voice sounded calmer than his expression might suggest – so aware of those anxious green eyes following him as he strode to the door, and turned to re-meet them.

"I'm going to get some coffee. And then, Special Agent McGee, you and I are gonna have a _long_ chat."

Watching him go, McGee then groaned, letting his head fall back into the nest of pillows behind it. Even flat on his back in hospital, it seemed that he could get his boss completely fed up with him. And between facing a seriously hacked off Gibbs and watching a studio full of baying, feuding relatives – yeah, Tim ruefully decided, glaring at the remote beside him, suddenly Jerry Springer felt the _much_ safer option.

But then something made him glance back to the doorway, and stare in surprise at what he found there – a far gentler smile, and a reassuring wink, before Gibbs set off to find the nearest coffee machine.

Smiling too now, McGee settled back into his pillows again, studying the mass of cards and get well gifts around him. Then he glanced back at the letter in his hand. Suddenly he had one hell of a lot to think about.


	14. Chapter 14 Biting The Bullet

Aftermath

A/N:- Thanks for the latest reviews! For all those who have so kindly stayed with me on this story, there are six more chapters to come, including this one. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen – Biting the Bullet

If all the world's troubles could be solved with coffee, cookies, and simple straight-talking – hell, Gibbs mused through a mouthful of finest Maryland, life in that world would be so much easier.

Still, he'd leave that unenviable task to the UN – let them find solutions to the seemingly impossible. Besides, he was still struggling to solve just one problem, let alone a whole planet's.

That problem's greatest burden was still weighing far too heavily on Tim McGee's shoulders – the resignation in his voice speaking volumes for the nightmare which continued to haunt his conscience.

"I – I know it sounds crazy, boss, but I just wish I knew, for sure if-if I was the one who killed him. If – If I just knew for sure, one way or the other, then at least I could start to accept it, and move on. And I know Abby's run every test she could on it, but this not knowing, boss, this uncertainty, it's-"

"-still bugging Abs as much as you," Gibbs cut on softly, running a tired hand through his hair – this inadvertent vent of frustration now providing him, just as unexpectedly, with a crucial breakthrough.

It started with two wide eyes, passed through open-mouthed shock, and ended with an astonished question

"You – You mean she's _still_ trying to process it?"

Okay, so he'd not expected it, but... hell, right now, Gibbs would happily take any break he could get. In fact, he was even smiling slightly as he watched a pensive frown set itself into Tim McGee's face.

It meant that special bond with Abby had kicked in, and gone straight into protective boy-scout overdrive.

Even though they weren't _officially_ together any more, Gibbs knew they were still the closest of friends. Abby just had to bat that shadowed lashes at him, and her sweet, chivalrous Timmy was pure putty in her hands

And if Tim McGee thought, for one second, that she was upset, or unhappy, because of _him_ – well, however upset and unsettled he felt himself, he'd just _never_ stand for that.

So Gibbs knew what McGee's response would be, long before it came stammering out of his mouth

"And she's... I – I mean, is she- um... is she okay, boss? I – I mean, it isn't bugging her _too_ much... is it?"

He'd tried, so hard, to sound casual. Unfortunately, Tim McGee just didn't have the face for it. And, to Gibbs' quiet amusement, the telltale blush which now crept into his cheeks didn't help either.

Yeah, the kid had it bad alright. Your face didn't turn that red, that fast, without a damn good reason. And it couldn't just be coincidence that mentioning Abby had made him colour up like a beetroot

For entertainment value, if nothing else, he'd _definitely_ need to keep an eye on these two – assuming, of course, that Tim McGee didn't walk away from the most precious blessing he'd ever have.

Walking out on your career was forgiveable – just. Walking out on the woman who loved you _wasn't_.

With more reason than ever now, to keep the boy on his team, Gibbs then grew more serious – keeping his voice carefully gentle, but still firm and meaningful enough to make his point.

"Well, she's a scientist, McGee, just like you. And she knows how much that killshot means to you. She's the best there is, Tim. If there's a way to prove who fired that bullet, she'll find it."

"Yeah, boss, I know," Tim smiled, if rather wearily back at him, as he sighed and shook his head – uncannily echoing the same, gentle reality check that Gibbs had made to Abby himself, just days before.

"But however brilliant she is, boss, she – she can't work miracles. She-She can't find what isn't there.

Like you say, boss, I'm a scientist too, so I know what our technology can do, and also what it can't. I know she's run that bullet through every test I've used myself, and others that I didn't knew existed. And if trying to prove that killshot's upsetting her that much, boss, then... no, I – I can't put her through that."

He'd spoken typically quietly, and Gibbs had frowned at the slur of tiredness in his voice.

But then he smiled again as that tiredness, and the self-doubt beyond it, cleared from Tim McGee's eyes – his next words reflecting the same acceptance which took him a crucial step further in his recovery.

"I - I know she wants those answers, boss, as much as I do, but until the technology's there to find them... well, I guess we both just need to take what we have right now, and learn to live with it."

There'd been many times that Gibbs wished he'd shown how proud he was of his team. The title of special agent didn't come easily, and respect from Jethro Gibbs was even harder to earn.

But he'd been rarely so proud, or so impressed by Tim McGee's character, as he was right now. And for the first time in several days, Gibbs could allow himself a genuine, cautiously hopeful smile.

It had been brutally hard for him, but Tim McGee was finally starting to accept what he'd been through. He'd started to recognise the things he could do, things he _had_ to do, to let him move on from it.

More importantly, he'd also recognised the things that, for now, he couldn't do anything to change. And, from that crucial acceptance, the chance of keeping this _very_ special agent on his team had just come a little bit closer.


	15. Chapter 15 Fate, Faith And Destiny

Aftermath

A/N:- Thanks again for the lovely reviews! I've just found that I can access the site at work, which is handy. I'll hopefully be able to post two chapters a day now, instead of one. So here's today's second update, with a bit more soul searching for both Tim and Gibbs. As always, I hope you'll enjoy!

Chapter Fifteen - Fate, Faith And Destiny

Maybe it was the meds, or the coffee and cookies, or all three working together - but after a shaky start, and to Gibbs' quiet relief, Tim McGee was back in his usual, reassuringly positive mood. And, inevitably, he needed the answer to an unavoidable question.

"Boss, when we went to bring Archer in, why did you take me? I - I mean, with everything that had happened with me already, why didn't you take someone you knew you could rely on, like Tony? Or Ziva?"

Thrown, very rarely, for a complete loop, Gibbs then smiled as he met two bright eyes which were as full of questions as they were of calm understanding.

_'Yeah, that's my boy. Straight down to the nitty-gritty'_

For all those proud, fatherly thoughts, though, that question needed a serious answer. A completely honest one, too. Taking another long drink of coffee, Gibbs finally gave it.

"I guess it comes down to another, age-old question, Tim - how to confront and defeat your fears. I knew you had a problem with your confidence. I had to know if you could still react to a potentially dangerous situation, and... well, I figured the only way to find out was to make you face one."

Pausing for a moment, Gibbs then met McGee's eyes again - hoping the understanding he still found there would also extend into forgiveness, and acceptance, for the soft admission which followed.

"In hindsight, though - no, Tim, I was wrong. I forced you into a situation that you weren't in a fit state to face, and put _both_ our lives at risk. I pushed you too hard, McGee, before you were ready. And, whatever happened because of that decision has to be _my_ responsibility, Tim. Not yours."

He'd expected agreement, maybe a grateful smile. To Gibbs' relief, he already had the latter. But instead of agreeing with him completely, Tim shook his head, defending him with a diplomatic compromise which would have done the UN proud, let alone his astonished boss.

"No, boss, you - you had to know if I could still cut it out there, and... well, I guess _both_ of us were a little bit off with our timing that day."

It was amazing what a single stressed word could achieve - the issue which had almost wrecked the crucial trust between them settled now, laid gladly to rest, in a nod of grateful acceptance and a shyly loyal smile.

Watching Tim frown thoughtfully into his coffee, Gibbs tried to figure out what was causing it - then dryly gave up the effort. Trying to understand how Tim McGee's mind worked was like facing a curveball, you just never knew what direction it was going to take next.

Fate and philosophy, though? Hell, even for this kid, that took curveballs into a whole new league.

"You know, boss, this is... yeah, this is the _third_ time I've had a gun aimed at my head," Tim said at last – hesitating for a moment, not sure if he should go on, until an encouraging, gently wry smile prompted him to continue.

"I – I mean, from Ari's ambush alone, I should be _dead_ right now, and after Archer, and this too... well, I – I mean, you just gotta wonder, boss. D'you think someone's trying to tell me something?"

"Jeez, McGee, you're asking _me_ stuff like _that_?" Gibbs retorted dryly, grinning at McGee's response. Considering what he'd just been through, that faint snigger of laughter was a truly welcome sound. It boded well for the more serious reply which, he hoped, would keep Tim McGee on his team.

"But if you're asking about fate, and why you've survived all this, then... yeah, I think someone is. I think whatever, or whoever, you want to believe in, Tim, is telling you that you're making a mistake.

And I'm telling you the same thing, McGee. Maybe I should have said it before now, but I'm explaining to you now _why_ I keep pushing you so hard. I did it with Tony, _and_ Kate, when they joined my team, because I saw in them what I see in you now.

I see a federal agent who still has a lot to learn, but who has the courage, _and_ the intelligence, to do it. I saw that as soon as I read your file. It's why I assigned you to my team, and... yes, you've come a long way since then, Tim. A _hell_ of a long way, just as I knew you would. And if you keep at it, you'll go even further."

He'd spoken quietly and calmly, straight from the heart – and McGee had hung onto his every word

After several false starts, Tim re-found his own voice - its reply as choked with relief as it was in shock.

"You – You _really_ have that much faith in me, boss? But you've nev-... I – I mean, you-"

"- yell at you, shout at you, whack you upside your head, and generally make your life hell," Gibbs finished for him, still smiling even as his voice stayed completely serious.

"I've _always_ had faith in you, McGee. I may not show it, but it's always been there. You wouldn't be on my team if it wasn't. But the real question here, Tim, is do _you_ have faith in yourself?"

It had been the most crucial question of all – met with a rueful smile as McGee sighed and shook his head.

"Right now, boss, I'd have to say no. No, I don't. Whatever you said just now, I still froze up on you, and I nearly got us both killed. Then I chased that kid into that alley, knowing he was armed, but kinda forgetting that _I_ wasn't. I nearly got myself killed because of it, so... yeah, boss, my faith in myself's still pretty shaky right now."

Another reaction which Gibbs hadn't expected. This one, though, gave him something to work with. If he couldn't appeal to McGee's intelligence, then he'd appeal to an even greater strength instead.

Tim McGee had seen a complete stranger in trouble, and reacted on pure instinct to do something about it. And if that could happen to him in civilian life once, then it could certainly happen to him again.

"Okay, McGee, answer me this," he said at last, re-seating himself on the edge of Tim's bed – making sure he had McGee's complete attention as he caught his eyes, and refused to let them go.

"Let's say that you _do_ leave, and you take that job at MIT. So you're a civilian now, _not_ a federal agent. You're heading for lectures, and as you cross the street, you see one of your best students being mugged. She's struggling and screaming for help, but everyone's ignoring her, and her attacker takes off. He's taken all her coursework, for an exam she's due to take that morning. What would you do?"

As he'd hoped, the reply came back without a second thought – and held a reassuring degree of outrage.

"I'd run right after him, boss, and wouldn't stop 'til I–"

Realising what he'd just said, what it meant, McGee fell silent, his eyes widening in realization. Then, at last, he smiled.

"I'd go after him, boss," he said at last, his voice gaining in strength with every word that followed. "I'd do all I could to stop him, just like I did with that kid who shot me. Just like I've gone through all my training with you to do..."

"So what does that tell you, _Special_ _Agent_ McGee, about _who_ and _what_ you are?" Gibbs asked quietly, letting those carefully stressed words sink in, before deadpanning the point home as only he could.

"Oh, and in case you missed my subtlety there, the clue's in the question."

McGee's laughter alone was music to Gibbs' ears. So was the soft voice which eventually answered him

"If – If I stay, boss, I'm gonna need help. An awful lot of it."

"You'll have it, Tim. Whenever you need it, every step of the way," Gibbs promised him just as gently – rising hope crashing against silent frustration as McGee nodded, still pensively studying his letter.

But then Tim raised his head again, meeting Gibbs' eyes with familiar, calm determination in his own. And while the UN still had a lifetime of problems to solve, Jethro Gibbs had one less to worry about – the threat of losing one of his best agents finally lifted by a broad smile, a determined nod, and the sound of ripping paper.


	16. Chapter 16 With Friends Like These

Aftermath

A/N:- If there's one thing I love about NCIS, it's the humour - especially between Gibbs and his ever bickering boys! So with all the angsty stuff safely out of the way, I thought you could all do with a bit of light relief. I'm sure poor Tim and Gibbs would appreciate a break, too, after all that whumpage! So here is a chapter which I hope you'll enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

Chapter Sixteen - With Friends Like These

Hospitals. Places of peaceful calm and healing quiet. Unless your name happened to be Timothy McGee. As he'd come to dryly appreciate, his modest little room seemed to be the busiest in the entire building.

If he didn't wake to find his nurses gently checking him over, he'd find equally familiar company instead. More times than most, of course, it would be Gibbs - keeping his now customary, fatherly guard.

Sometimes, he'd wake to Ziva and Abby, fighting playfully over him – and wisely go straight back to sleep.

Today, it was Tony's turn. As usual, he'd timed his visit, _so_ conveniently, for just after the lunch-run. And, Tim ruefully noted, all hopes he'd had for a peaceful afternoon nap now completely disappeared.

His friend, surrogate big brother, and constant bane of his life, was clearly in a mischievous mood. Judging by the steady munching which had woken him in the first place, he was hungry too.

"Hey, probie! Lookin' good, kid, and - oh, yeah, you... uh, didn't want this fruit crumble, did you?"

Later, maybe, while he'd watched tonight's Trek, but – well, rather like his nap, he could forget that now.

Studying a half-emptied bowl, and wickedly licked spoon, McGee then sighed and shook his head.

"I don't _now_..."

An apology would have been nice, or even an offer to share the treat which was his in the first place. All he received instead was an evil grin, a shameless shrug, and a brotherly poke on his stomach.

"Hey, I'm just looking out for ya, probie! Thinking about your waistline, and- ooooh, jello!"

Pulling a suitable face in reply, Tim closed his eyes, trying to ignore the shameless gluttony beside him. Great, now he'd lost his midnight munchie too. Still, all the time DiNozzo was stealing his food, he couldn't annoy him, and – yeah, like hell he couldn't.

Resignedly opening his eyes again, McGee then turned them, in much practised suspicion, towards his left temple.

"So help me, Tony, if you're drawing on my head again, I'm gonna take that pen and-"

"Hey, c'mon, McMummy, I'm just snazzing you up for all your adoring public," Tony grinned back at him – taking full advantage of his bed-bound canvas as he put the final touches to his latest masterpiece.

"Yeah, I've seen how that real cute nurse what's-her-name... yeah, Marcy, I've seen the way she looks at you. And you'll be wearing that sexy headgear for a while, so - hey, look on the bright side, McBuzzcut... by the time it comes off, you'll have all your hair back, and–"

It was Tony's turn to frown now, as the glare on McGee's face suddenly melted into a beatific smile. Two seconds later, wincing through a rueful afterthought, he found out why.

"–and you won't be getting those for a while either - right, boss?"

"No, DiNozzo, you'll be getting them instead," Gibbs retorted just as dryly, slapping him again for good measure.

Turning a practised blind eye to DiNozzo's reaction, he then cast Tim a stern yet mischievous wink.

"And _you_'_re_ meant to be resting, and- is he _annoying_ you, McGee?"

He _could_ do the loyal little brother thing, of course, and say no, but – hell, saying yes would be _much_ more fun

"A_lways_, boss," Tim sighed, putting that pouty lower lip to perfect use as he nodded towards Tony. "He ate my crumble."

Pot now well and truly stirred, McGee then settled back to enjoy what promised to be one hell of a show.

And what a show it turned out to be – Tony's hastening retreat towards the door cut abruptly short by a vice like grip on his collar, and a softly growled question.

"You _ate_ his _crumble_?"

#whack#

"Hey, boss, he – he was sleeping!"

"So you woke him up, too, DiNozzo? When he was _meant_ to be resting?"

#whack#

"Yeah, it- ow! Uh, won't happen again, boss."

A pause, followed by a plaintive afterthought as Tony found himself being steered towards the door.

"Yeah, I was just leaving, too, and- uh, boss? Can we stop at the pharmacy? I need some aspirin."

#whack#

"So, um- that's a no, boss? Only I've got this pig of a headache, and- _ow_! Shutting up, boss"

Still laughing as he watched them leave, Tim eased himself into his pillows and closed his eyes. Aaah, peace at last. Time for him to rest, enjoy that peaceful nap after all, and –

"Tim? Can I get you anything?"

Blinking awake again, Tim smiled. Some interruptions were a pain in the butt, of course, but – no, not this one.

"Hey, Marcy. No, I'm fine, thanks - though if you've got some more of that crumble..."


	17. Chapter 17 Reflections

Aftermath

A/N:- I know I said in my last A/N that all the angsty stuff was over, but I forgot about this chapter - oops!

Don't worry, it's nothing too serious - I just thought it would be nice for Tim to have a chapter to himself for a change, just to think about all he's been through.

It also gave me a chance to put my theory in for McGee's infamous season three buzzcut, and it sets the scene for what happens in the next chapter. As always, I hope you enjoy. And thanks again for the reviews!! :o)

Chapter Seventeen - Reflections

It had seemed a good idea at the time, to ask Marcy for a mirror. After all, he _was_ a federal agent. And whatever field they worked in, whatever department, federal agents had a certain image to maintain.

Marcy had taken care of that for him, of course, keeping him as presentable as his numerous dressings allowed. She'd also kept him scrubbed and sponged. All over. With emphasis on the _'all'_ part.

Coaxing him out from under the bedclothes, she'd patiently assured him that she'd 'seen it all before.' With the same charming humour, she'd even treated him to the best manicures he'd ever had.

And, as she'd pressed a small mirror into his hand, she'd gently warned him what to expect.

'_There_'_ll be a lot of stitches_ _and bruising_, _Tim_, _and-_ _well_, _it won_'_t_ _be pretty_. _But it will heal_. _Just buzz me when you're ready, and I'll come back to re-dress it.'_

Now, as he studied his reflection, Tim McGee was starting to understand why she'd smiled, patted his shoulder, then tactfully left.

Staring, in silent horror, at the stitches along his head, he felt tears start to well helplessly in his eyes – a choked whisper expressing every part of his regret that he'd asked for that damn mirror.

"Oh, my God."

It was as well that he was lying down - and an even greater blessing that he hadn't eaten recently.

He'd learned to live with the scar on his right cheek, and how it had got there, but this fresh one – God, he'd never imagined this ragged graze along the side of his head would make him recoil in such shock.

Damn it, all those stitches, all that bruising – and he didn't even have any hair to cover it up!

They'd have shaved it all off anyway, of course, before they could operate on that haematoma, but – hell, with the screw-up talent that just seemed to follow him everywhere, he'd saved them the trouble.

Pulling a face at his reflected image, Tim then sighed at another reckless decision that he could do nothing about. More than ever now, he was seriously regretting the severe, buzzcut hairstyle which, he'd hoped, would mature him.

He'd hoped it would make him look older, that it would boost his dangerously fragile confidence.

Making field agent, the youngest on record, had been tough enough, and he'd fought like hell to get there - so he'd needed those glances of undermining doubt over his abilities like... well, like a hole in the head.

And now he had one. Literally.

In a perverse twist of human nature, though, Tim couldn't stop staring at the gauze which still covered it – the shock that he'd felt, just moments before, giving way now to contrite shame, and even deeper gratitude.

Okay, so he looked like a freak from one of DiNozzo's beloved movies – but he was _alive_. His doctors had fought for over three hours to save his life. For that, he was humbly grateful.

So yes, there was a smile on his face now, albeit a slight one, as Tim rested back against his pillows - using this new sense of peace and acceptance to reflect on the most incredible four weeks of his life.

So much had happened to him. He'd experienced his first kill, and come damn close to dying himself. Everything he'd just been through, from Benedict's shooting to his own, had turned his world upside down. It had affected him so deeply.

Inevitably, it had changed him too. His mind was too obsessed with scientific logic, and simple common sense, to fool him that it hadn't.

You couldn't go through so much trauma, in such a short space of time, and _not_ feel different afterwards. As both Gibbs and Tony had gently told him, they'd have been seriously worried if he'd said otherwise.

Even as he slowly healed from it, though, one thought kept niggling, inevitably, at Tim McGee's mind.

Barring complications, he'd be discharged by the weekend, to continue the rest of his recovery at home. Then it would be more healing rest, more work on his shoulder, and more therapy from his unofficial counsellors.

Abby, bless her heart, had already blitzed his kitchen in readiness - stocking him up with plentiful supplies of pretzels for Tony, and finest Costa Rican for Gibbs.

Once he passed all the psych and fitness tests, and returned to active duty, he'd be back on Gibbs' team. And the time would inevitably come when he'd face the same situation which had so nearly cost him his life.

Just minutes ago, that thought had terrified him. But as he lay back and considered it now, Tim smiled.

Yes, he'd been to hell and back these last few weeks. He'd even paid a flying visit to heaven on the way. But he was older, wiser, and better prepared, because of it. He'd made mistakes, and learned from them.

So yes, he'd changed. From what he'd been through, he'd grown up a hell of a lot. And the next time someone pointed a gun in his face, or dared to do it to someone he cared about – yes, Tim McGee would make sure that no-one, himself included, would dare to doubt his competence again.


	18. Chapter 18 Rule 51

Aftermath

A/N:- Well, this is the last but one chapter - and like I said in my previous A/N, part of Tim's thoughts in Reflections sets the scene for what happens to him here (if I tell you which part, it will spoil the surprise!) So, as always, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Eighteen - Rule #51

His badge. Until now, Tim McGee hadn't really noticed, or fully appreciated, how beautiful it was. Its design was so simple – plain, almost. But more to him than ever now, it was a priceless work of art.

Tracing his fingers, yet again, over its glistening surface, Tim smiled. Lost in pride, gratitude, so many other emotions, he was oblivious to the quiet amusement beside him – until a soft cough, followed by equally subtle, deadpan sarcasm, caused his smile to sheepishly widen.

"If you want some polish, McGee, there's some in the glove box."

Grinning too now, Tim just shrugged while clipping his badge, just as lovingly, back onto his belt.

"Thanks, boss, but… well, if this stakeout gets _too_ tedious, I'll save that for when I'm _really_ bored."

If he'd not been enjoying the moment so much, Gibbs might have chastised him, as only he could. Instead, dryly wondering when he'd gotten so soft, he cast another glance towards his youngest agent – marvelling at the difference between their last assignment together, and the one they were sharing today.

Back then, he'd pushed Tim McGee to the brink of a nervous breakdown, so to look at him now – yes, this picture of bright eyed health who sat, calmly focussed, beside him, was little short of a miracle.

But then, Gibbs proudly reflected, if there was a word to describe the kid's recovery, 'miraculous' was it

Just three months after his shooting, Tim McGee had already been cleared back into full duty. He'd taken his last set of firearms quals yesterday - and hit every target with perfect, unhesitant accuracy

Except for a telltale scar above his left ear, there was nothing to show for the trauma he'd been through. Only the thoughtful quietness which, as now, still sometimes consumed him, betrayed its legacy – a silence abruptly broken by muffled gunfire, then DiNozzo's voice, crackling through their headsets.

"Heads up, boss. Ziva's taken Kemp down, but Baron's gone, he's heading your way."

As McGee turned towards him, Gibbs also caught a glimpse of the realisation on Tim's face. Clint Baron had left two Marines dead. He wouldn't let himself be taken without one hell of a fight.

The scenario that Tim McGee had feared so deeply was now playing itself out, right in front of his eyes.

Those eyes, though, were calm and clear – carrying a silent promise between them. There'd be no hesitation this time – no doubts that would place four lives, including his own, at risk.

Whatever they had to face, or do, to take Baron down, Tim McGee was ready to take it on.

Not wanting to break his focus, Gibbs just nodded, allowing himself the slightest smile in return – proudly aware of McGee's solid presence beside him as they climbed out of the sedan and took position.

The car offered them precious protection, of course. But fate, and a ruthless ex-convict, had other ideas. Three sets of running feet kept coming towards them, then veered away into the woodland alongside.

The chase was on.

Guided by DiNozzo's shouts through their headsets, Gibbs took the lead, McGee skirting to the right.

Ahead of them, crashing through undergrowth, Baron turned, took aim at a bobbing, silvery head, and –

"Federal agent! Drop your weapon!"

Staring, in derisive shock, at the baby-faced kid who'd confronted him, Baron took aim at his new target –

– and Tim McGee's bullet blasted his gun, straight and clean, clear out of his hand.

Howling in pain, Baron then disappeared under a threeway scrum of incensed federal agents. Even in handcuffs, though, he kept struggling. That, he found to his cost, was a _very_ bad idea.

In the midst of that struggle, he knocked Tim McGee sideways, into a puddle of revoltingly sticky mud. Regaining his balance, Tim then threw the ex-con a glare that mentally dug him into his grave - and Tony, Ziva, even Gibbs, found themselves stepping mentally backwards at what he said next.

Tim McGee's voice was quiet. _Very_ quiet. And that meant only one thing. Their probie was _seriously _pissed.

"Damn it, look – look what you've done to my badge!"

Okay, so it was just some muddied water, smeared wetly across it, but – hell, to Tim McGee, this was unforgiveable sacrilege. Worse still, Baron was smirking at him. He thought it was hysterically funny. That was his second mistake – and it was a painful one.

Whatever he'd planned to sneer in response was lost in a rounded fist, and a mouthful of loosened teeth.

Seeing more stars than there were in the sky, Baron slumped into the mud. He didn't move again. At all.

Gibbs, Tony and Ziva weren't saying much either. Instead, all three were staring, in equal measures of shock and approval, towards Tim, who was still keeping perfect guard over his quarry. The first to recover, Tony then threw his arm over Tim's shoulders, hugging him in unashamed delight.

"Hey, McRoundhouse! Way to go!"

"Yes, McGee, that was... _most_ impressive..." Ziva agreed, in such sultry approval that Tim's face blushed to an undiscovered shade of beetroot.

Casting Tim McGee a grin of his own pure pride, Gibbs then dryly added another no-no to his ever growing list.

Rule #51 – if he's wearing his badge (_especially_ if there's mud around), do _not_ piss off the probie.


	19. Chapter 19 From Zero To Hero

Aftermath

A/N:- Well, this is the end of my first story here - and it's been quite a ride! Thanks again to everyone who has taken the time to leave reviews, every one of them has been so much appreciated.

Special thanks, too, must go to Teri, who patiently beta'd everything for me, and gave me the encouragement to come here.

I'm working on two more stories - one from Dog Tags, and the other a missing scene from Deception. Once they're finished, I'll certainly be posting them here!

For now, though, I think our beloved Timothy deserves a rather special ending. So as always, I hope you enjoy - thanks again for the support and your reviews, and hope to be back here soon. :o)

Chapter Nineteen - From Zero To Hero

Gibbs hadn't been joking. There really _had_ been a small tub of general polish in the sedan's glove-box.

Thanks to that, and some gentle buffing, Tim McGee's badge now gleamed, spotlessly good as new – which, Gibbs noted in puzzled concern, was more than could be said for its muddily dishevelled owner.

Still studying his young agent, Gibbs felt that niggle of concern deepen into a frown. Tim McGee had never been one for crowing over his achievements, of course, he was far too shy and modest for that. Yet where he now had so much reason to be proud of himself, he was still so quiet. _Much_ too quiet.

Yes, he'd shyly appreciated all the delighted hugs and backslaps after he'd decked Clint Baron into oblivion. But there'd still been a telltale strain in his eyes, as if he were somehow angry with what he'd done. For the life of him, Gibbs couldn't understand why.

It had been a textbook operation. Baron was back in custody, and his team was still blessedly in one piece. Yet for some inexplicable reason, he'd seen disappointment, frustration, even a flash of anger, betray themselves in McGee's eyes.

In an unsettling echo of that day, several months ago, he was now staring pensively down at his badge – and, Gibbs realized, not quite managing to hide a wince of discomfort as he clipped it back onto his belt.

He wasn't the only one who'd noticed it either. Tony's worried reflection in the rear view mirror told him that. Before they could voice their concerns, though, Tim sighed and, tellingly quietly, saved them the trouble.

"Damn it, boss, I – I _still_ couldn't do it! He - He was aiming right at you, boss, then me, but I – I just couldn't take him out..."

"Hey, you _stopped_ him, McGee," Gibbs told him firmly, just pipping Tony to the rallying post – bringing just the right mix of reassuring pride and kick-ass authority into his next, no-nonsense words.

"However you did it, McGee, _you_ stopped him. You took him down, Tim, with one hell of a shot. Baron's back in custody, _you_ took him down, and _no-one_ else got hurt. _That_'_s_ the main thing."

Watching Tim nod, in more hopeful agreement, Gibbs then realized that wasn't quite the case. The perfect roundhouse which had flattened Baron into the ground had left its mark on McGee too – prompting another nudge of fatherly concern as Gibbs nodded towards a grazed row of knuckles.

"And considering you knocked half his teeth out, you'd better let Ducky check _you_ out too."

To his relief, the smile came slightly easier this time as Tim nodded, gingerly flexing the soreness out of his fingers.

"Yeah, I - uh, gave him one hell of a whack, didn't I, boss?" he said at last, trying, in vain, not to blush – laughing outright as Tony double-patted his shoulders, reassuring him as only Tony DiNozzo could.

"Jeez, McRocky, you hit that creep so hard, even _my_ teeth hurt!"

"Yeah, watch yourself, DiNozzo, it'll be your butt next," Gibbs warned, winking across at Tim – sharing with him a grin of pure, gleeful delight as Kate Todd's impossible dream came a little bit closer.

For once ignoring the brewing mischief in front of him, Tony just allowed himself a slyly knowing smile. His butt-kicking probie didn't know it, but Anthony DiNozzo had quite a surprise planned for him too – Tim McGee's reaction to it, and Gibbs' too, all Tony had hoped for when they arrived back in the bullpen.

Stepping out of the elevator, Tim was almost knocked back into it by a spontaneous blast of cheering applause. Led by Ziva, Ducky and, of course, Abby too, every agent in the room stood at their desk, to give him a homecoming he'd never forget.

Equally stunned by the applause which now chimed in behind him, Tim turned in puzzled surprise to face it – just in time to see Gibbs slide an approving glance towards his smugly grinning senior agent.

They'd both wondered why DiNozzo had, with inexplicable gallantry, walked Ziva back to the van - especially when he'd returned from an animatedly deep discussion.

He'd looked so innocent. _Much_ too innocent. And when they'd left the stakeout scene, Ziva had shot past them as if the van was hitching a lift on a Saturn V rocket.

Now, as one laughed and the other blushed in realization, both Gibbs and Tim McGee knew why.

Before either could say anything, though, Abby succeeded where Tony's subterfuge had failed – flying into Tim's arms with so much kissing, cuddling force that he almost collapsed beneath her.

But then he recovered, fighting a hopeless cause to reassure her as Abby fussed anxiously over him.

"Aw, Abby, I'm _fine_. See? No, I'm not hurt or anything, it's just some mud. Yeah, you see? I'm _really_ okay, and… I'm fine, Abs, I promise. Honestly, I'm fine, I'm really okay, and- Abs? _Abs_! Tr-Trying to breathe here!"

Even when she finally released him, letting him breathe again, Abby still couldn't fully let him go – the lingering fear in her eyes laid to rest now, once and for all, as Tim grinned, playfully tugging her pigtails.

"Really, Abs, I'm really okay. I promise, I'm staying _right_ here, I'm not going _any_where else. _Ever_."

There was much more, of course, that he wanted to say. For the moment, though, he simply couldn't. A rush of pure emotion was one reason – Abby's renewed strangle hold around his neck the other.

Instead, hugging her closer, every bit as choked as she was, Tim McGee glanced shyly sideways – meeting the eyes of the surrogate father who'd led him into one unthinkable nightmare, and who'd brought him, through thick and thin, safely out of another.

Despite the open pride in those eyes, he knew that Jethro Gibbs wasn't one for slushy sentiment. Yet a simple glance, and two soft words, still managed to convey all that Tim McGee needed to say - and everything that Jethro Gibbs needed to hear.

"Thanks, boss."

Winking back at him, Gibbs then stepped back to enjoy the moment he'd once feared he'd never see. His family was safe, blessedly reunited. Tim McGee was back where he truly and rightly belonged.

And at long last, the nightmare which had almost proven so costly to both of them was finally over.


End file.
